


Serendipity - Newtmas

by axbee



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: M/M, Protective!Thomas, Thomas is a dork, enjoy kids it’s gonna be a sad one, give me a chance pls newt deserves it, i like the plot tho and there’s a Lot of twists oof, idek where the fuck this is going i won’t lie, newt has cancer, newts adorable, newts fragile as hell, newts in an abusive home, newts really smol and tiny, protect the baby newt, smol newt, sonya’s a protective older sister, thomas is cute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-16 08:29:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14807867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/axbee/pseuds/axbee
Summary: ❝If I die, tell him I loved him.❞serendipity/sɛr(ə)nˈdɪpɪti/(n.) to find something good without looking for it.- or in which the school jock is searching for love and the cancer kid has a reason to live again.





	1. ➵ See good in all things

They meet in a hospital.

Newt is tired, the gown he's been wearing for the past three days is itching his skin and he rubs absentmindedly at his arm. He swings his legs back and forth, impatiently waiting for the doctors to finish with his mum and his mums boyfriend. His nails are chewed raw, he's been biting them all morning.

Across from him, someone is trying to get some soda out of the vending machine. The person is tall and has dark, short hair that is unruly on their head. They're wearing a tight fitting red shirt that shows off broad shoulders and muscular arms. Newt watches in mild amusement as the machine apparently eats the persons dollar, and whoever it is bangs their fist aggressively against the glass, swearing loudly, "Oh for fucks sake, you've gotta be _kidding_ me."

Newt snorts without thinking, and then ducks his head with a small smile. His legs still swing without him noticing, and his fingers are removed from his mouth, instead they tap the side of the typical hospital chair. He stares at his lap for a moment before looking up again, biting his lip with a sheepish smile when he sees the person starting right at him.

The first thing Newt notices are his - yes, _his_ , eyes. They're dark and endearing, they hold a warmth to them, like the soothing comfort of  hot coffee. They're narrowed slightly in an accusing manner, but he doesn't seem too unfriendly. He looks tired, too. Not surprisingly, hospitals are always exhausting.

Newt considers waving, but instead he holds his gaze, wondering what the boy staring at him will do. He continues to stare, looking at him curiously. Newt looks sick, he knows, his blonde hair is short and stubby on his head, barely growing back, and he's skinny and pale, small inside the hospital gown. He wonders if the boy pities him. It makes him smile ironically.

Just as he thinks the awkward encounter will end with the boy simply walking away, the brunette coughs slightly, and begins to walk towards him. Newt, without realising, sits up slightly in his chair, as a way he thinks of respect. The boy stops not too far from him, but not too close either. His demeanor seems quite confident. He carries himself with ease and some sort of simplicity, no signs of discomfort.

The boy makes the first move, with a small smirk and out stretched hand he gives a simple "hey" and Newt wants to laugh. He doesn't though, instead he cracks what he hopes is a friendly grin, and takes the strangers hand. He almost jumps at how cold it is.

"Hello," he replies cooly, tilting his head sideways. He shakes the icy palm for a moment, before letting go, briefly. He notices the boys mild surprise at his accent.

"I'm Thomas," the boy - no, Thomas says, then. His eyes have a softness in them as he replaces the smirk with a gentle smile. "You alright?"  
Newt snorts again, reaching to the side of the gown. He tugs at it with raised eyebrows, but he's playful. "What, this?" He says, "it's nothing, just a check up is all."

Thomas nods, an unreadable expression on his face, yet his eyes give away his unspoken worry. Newt decides he likes his eyes.

"Are you okay? I don't mean to intrude," Newt starts off then, because the short silence irks him in a way that has since he was aware of short silences. Thomas smiles through his nose, shifting his leg onto the other as he lets out a dramatic sigh.

"Yeah, my girlfriend - absolute idiot, but I love her - fell down the stairs and broke her arm. I'm just visiting her, she's in the room down the hall."

Newt tenses at the mention of a girlfriend for some reason, but he ignores it and plasters a look of sympathy on his face instead. "Sorry 'bout that mate, hope she's alright," he hopes he sounds convincing. He must have, because Thomas gives him a thankful smile. "Yeah, man, me too. Actually, I'd better go back to her before she starts whining," he winks, cheekily, "I'll see you around." Then he turns to leave.

Newt slumps down in his chair again, frowning, watching the back of Thomas' head as the boy walks down the hallway. He feels stupidly disappointed to see him go, in a way that confuses him. He decides not to dwell on it when he catches something.

Thomas is about to turn the corner when Newt suddenly stands up from his chair, hoping he doesn't look too ridiculous with the gown halfway down his thighs. "It's Newt!" He calls, almost regretting it when Thomas stops. "My name is Newt!"

Thomas turns around to give him a quick grin and a friendly thumbs up. "Newt, got it!" He calls back, before he turns again to disappear around the corner, and Newt slumps back into the chair once more, but this time, he's smiling.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi to everyone reading this, and a big thanks too!!
> 
> also, sorry this is like really short the rest of the chapters won't be i swear jsssjsjj  
> so, i'll get to the basics.
> 
> newt has cancer, yeah, he has for the past three years, and i don't know a lot about leukemia but i'm gonna do a Lot of research but if i fuck up anywhere just lemme know and i'll change it :)
> 
> anyways, thanks so much for deciding to read this, and i hope you enjoy!!
> 
> \- bee ☘︎


	2. ➵ Small things matter

monday  
10:34am

Newt sighs loudly as he enters the kitchen. He cracks his knuckles that earns him a swat from a towel, thanks to his mum. She wrinkles her nose at him, pinching him lightly on his cheeks. "You know I hate it when you do that," she says, in a disapproving tone. She tries to frown at him, but Newt simply smiles cheekily and kisses her own cheek.

She smiles unbeknownst to herself, and Newt reaches into the cupboard, pulling out a glass and setting it on the counter, filling it with tap water. Boxes are filling the corners of the room. They've only moved recently, for better healthcare, or, that's just what mum tells him. Newt bites his lip at the sight of the unpacked house. He knows deep down its better they moved now, before he got too sick to fly.

In America, things feel unfamiliar still, nothing like London. The cities are different, along with people and just about everything else, and the new house doesn't quite feel like home. Especially not with-

"Morning, babe!"

\- Eric.

Newt frowns visibly, hoping that the hatred is shown on his face. He places the two slices of bread he's taken out of the packet into the toaster, more forcefully than necessary. Newts mum, Tasha, gives him another disapproving look, and their mother-son moment is ruined.

Newt turns away as Eric leans in to kiss her, resting his chin on his palm as he stares fiercely at the toaster. He knows the long lasting hostility isn't exactly ideal, and he really should just grow a pair and try to accept him, but he hates Eric. He really does.

Eric is handsome. He has bright blue, piercing eyes and dark hair that curls neatly on his head. His lips are pale but smooth, and his chiseled chin holds a sharp jawline and high cheekbones that resemble the family trait.

His nose is sharp, and he has an air and odd look about him that gives you a don't-mess-with-him feeling. He's also from Chicago, which, in Newts opinion, fucks up the whole blonde British family vibe.

Eric seems somewhat reasonable and even nice at first, but Newt knows that he's snobby and selfish in more than just a couple of ways. He's snarky and unkind and has a dangerous demeanor.

Ever since the day Eric pressed Newt against the baby blue, child marked door of his old bedroom and bellowed shit into his face, aggressively reminding him of his weak health and small frame, Newt has hated him. More than his frowns and glares could ever say.

The toast pops out, crispy and golden, and Newt instantly grabs the butter and knife, smearing it on as it melts deliciously. He shoves the first slice into his mouth, scoffing it down hungrily. He ignores Eric staring at him in mild disgust as he devours his food. What can he say? He's a growing boy.

His sister, Sonya, waltzes into the room then, a content look on her face as she stares at her phone, biting her lip in bliss. Newt shoves the last piece of crust down his throat and downs his glass of water, before clearing his throat to address the third blonde in the family.

"What's got you so happy, then?" He quips, smirking slightly as his sister blushes, shoving her phone into the pocket of her pink pajama shorts. "Nothing, Newt. It's fine, I'm just in a good mood," she replies, but her tone and whole face tell her brother otherwise.

He bites into the second slice of toast with a knowing look, and she winks at him teasingly as she walks past, ruffling the very short hair on his head. "It's getting longer," she notes, more to compliment or to change the subject, Newt doesn't know, but he smiles anyway between bites.

"It looks better, anyway," she continues, her face morphed into a look of acknowledgment as she addresses his features in her head. Her brother is small, much too small, and he's sickly skinny with pale skin that sticks to his bones and that seems to never drink in sunlight. She sighs to herself, watching him lick the crumbs off his fingers. He looks fragile.

"What are your plans for today, Newt?" Eric says, then. He has a hint of sarcasm that Newt finds cruel, but no one picks up on it as his face is etched into a look of pure innocence. Newt recoils sharply instead, glaring harder than before. "Dunno, might go for a kick about. Could get a few goals in if I picture your face as the ball hard enough."

Tasha turns sharply. "Newt!" She scolds, her voice dripping with anger. She holds a fierceness about her when Newt treats Eric with disrespect, a fierceness that has even Newt upset. "Apologise immediately!" Her eyes are narrowed in a way that makes Newt's stomach churn uncomfortably, a way however, that isn't new. Once again, he's lost to Eric.

He doesn't bother apologising, instead he grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and leaves the kitchen as calmly as he can, not forgetting to shove into Eric's shoulder as he walks by.

✘ ✘ ✘

Newts new room is big, almost too big. It doesn't hold the small sense of comfort his old bedroom had. It's spacious and the ceiling walls aren't sloped, once again, like his precious room. It has no faded stickers on the ceilings and no wall markings of his growth since he was a toddler. There are no comforting glow in the dark stars, and no trademark fingerprints on the door.

The walls are a pale blue colour, and his bed has plain white sheets. It almost feels like a hospital room, if it wasn't scattered with books and CD's everywhere. He draws the dusty blinds, blowing on them gently, before flopping bonelessly onto his bed.

He lets out a small sigh, his throat clogging as tears fill his vision. His eyes cloud over as he sniffs loudly into his pillow. It's not fair, when he thinks about it. Eric's meanness, his illness. He remembers when it all started, before Eric came around and caused him so much frustration.

He remembers his first CT scan. His first MRI for his brain, bone marrow biopsy and aspirations, lumber punctures, his blood drawn to check his blood levels. He remembers losing his hair a few weeks after he began chemotherapy. He thumps his hand into his pillow, because he's exhausted and he's only just woken up and nothing is fucking _fair_.

His chest aches and he feels weak. He thinks about showering, but instead he curls up tightly, ignoring the fact that his heart is pounding and he gets so much more easily upset than he used to.

He sniffs again, rubbing his eyes tiredly. His fluffy grey jumper is too large on him and drowns his small frame, but he wraps his arms around himself. It brings comfort. It smells normal, at least.

He closes his eyes, curling his fingers beside his head, refusing to let the tears drip down his face. Instead, he mumbles "get your shit together," before allowing exhaustion take over him.

He escapes, into a world where everything is okay, and maybe, just maybe, he can pretend that things aren't going to slowly fall apart. That he's safe. That he isn't sick.

That the brown haired boy will come back to make him smile.

✘ ✘ ✘

monday  
7:03am

"You never did mention what took you so long getting me a soda."

Thomas looks up from where he's dishing out cereal in the cupboard. He meets her gaze, and smiles softly. "I was talking to this kid. He seemed really sick," he tells her, eventually settling on cheerios. He pulls the box out of the cupboard and shuts it with his hip, grabbing the bowl and setting the spoon in his mouth with a wink.

Teresa nods, smirking at his gesture, occupied with blueberry pancakes and a fruit smoothie. She digs into her breakfast, with a little difficulty due to the cast on her left arm. Smiling a little sadly, she pipes up again. "What did he look like?"

She's only making conversation, but Thomas kind of wants to forget about him. He thinks for a moment as he pours orange juice into his glass, taking a little sip before speaking. "I'm not sure how to describe him. He had like, blonde hair that I'm pretty sure was growing back from being shaved, and he was wearing a hospital gown that looked really long. I - yeah, he was small, I guess. Really skinny."

Thomas doesn't elaborate, and Teresa doesn't ask more. It's not that Thomas doesn't like the boy - Newt, yes, Newt is his name.

It isn't that he doesn't like Newt, in fact, he actually enjoyed the kids company, as short as it was. He's just trying to push him out of his mind. He'll never see him again, what's the point?

He doesn't mention to Teresa that despite the pale skin and fragile appearance, Newt has the most beautiful eyes Thomas has ever seen.   
A cute nose too, but that definitely goes unmentioned.

He doesn't talk about Newt's smile that seems brighter than a thousand suns, either. Or his English accent, God, that accent. He doesn't talk about Newts seemingly shy yet quirky personality, because there's nothing to talk about.

Thomas scoffs down the rest of his cereal, pushing Newt out of his mind.   
He has a gorgeous girlfriend right here in front of him, so why would he think about a sick kid he spoke to for five minutes?

Right - he won't. "How's your arm?" He teases instead, and Teresa laughs and makes a gesture and the tension that he wasn't aware of is lifted and they're laughing and joking again.

The hospital boy is far from his mind, and that's where he'll stay.

✘ ✘ ✘

School is exhausting.

Thomas slams his locker shut for the third time that day with a pounding headache. It racks his skull and he rubs his temples, shutting his eyes. Not only has he got a biology project due in three days that he hasn't started yet, but he also has an AP math test next period and a geography one straight after. He's studied for neither, and he sighs as he thinks about the fact that he is royally fucked.

Someone cuffs his shoulder, and he turns around to find Minho, grinning widely as always, holding his gym back. "Ready for track?" he beams, punching Thomas' shoulder playfully. Minho is smart, academically and in general. Him and Thomas are captains of the school track team, something both boys cherish. He's Asian, with dark hair like Thomas and white teeth that glow when he smiles.

Thomas grins at him, ignoring the aching behind his eyes. "Yeah, man!" He says back instead, just as enthusiastically. He grabs his gym bag from where it's settled at his feet, and heads down the hallway, side by side with Minho. He's asking questions, too many for Thomas to count, and he barely answers before he spots a blonde.

He stops, and stares, and Minho grabs his elbow. "You good? What're you looking at?" He asks again. Thomas blinks and the blonde has turned around. It's not - of course it's not what was he thinking - but he feels crushed in such a stupid way that he growls and tugs Minho along, headed towards the gym.

Minho has a frown on his face, and it stays there until they get to the boys locker rooms. They're, unsurprisingly, the first ones there, and Minho grips at the chance, thankful that no one is around. "What happened back there? What's up with you today, you've been acting weird all morning," he folds his arms in an accusing manner. "You're not telling me something."

Thomas sighs, slinking onto one of the benches. He doesn't know where to start. He considers bullshitting and pulling some story out of his ass, but then he remembers that Minho is a human lie detector and Thomas sucks at lying.

"I saw a kid at the hospital when Teresa got her cast and, uh, he's been on my mind. That's all," he says, eventually, but Minho guesses it's more than that when Thomas places his head in his hands, "I, man, I don't even know why he's still in my head. Spoke to the guy for five minutes."

Minho sighs, and Thomas doesn't know if he's being sarcastic or genuine. Minho sits down next to him then, settling his gym bag on his lap. "Why is he on your mind? Anything, like, I don't know, special about him?" He says in the end, and his voice holds something that is so, unbelievably comforting that Thomas turns his gaze towards him.

"No. Well, not that I can think of. He just has blonde hair and a nice smile. He's also really small. And has a nose, that - like, those noses that you look at and kinda wanna, like, pinch."

Minho can't help himself but laugh. Thomas laughs along because what he's said sounds so fucking dumb he can't hold it in. He ducks his head and chuckles down at his shoes. "I'm sorry, man, ignore me - will you?" He grins, and Minho pats his back.

"Well, whatever it is," Minho starts, with a reassuring smile that has Thomas softly smiling too, "I'm sure it'll be fine. I'm sure you'll run into him again, or something. Maybe become friends. Just don't let it get to your head too much, okay? Teresa's still your girlfriend and has been for the past year."

Thomas nods, and thanks whatever Gods are out there that he has a friend like Minho. "What would I do without you?" He smirks, nudging Minho, teasingly.

"Die. Or go insane, or both," Minho laughs, just as the locker room door bursts open and begins to pile in a load of loud, rowdy boys, and their moment is over.

Thomas smiles, anyways, because things feel normal again.

That's exactly what he wants.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second chapter is here and shitty but hey i tried !!  
> kinda feel like i'm rushing stuff and it seems super unrealistic but i'm gonna keep it a little subtle for a chapter or two, so don't worry :)  
> also yeah eric's a dick lol just wait y'all are gonna hate his rat ass
> 
> ALSO i am so sorry if i fucked up all the stuff about newts cancer, he has CLL (Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia) and i'm googling as much as i can about it, but like i said, feel free to correct me if i screw up some places :)  
> anyways, thanks for reading and i'll see ya next chapter !!
> 
> \- bee ☘︎


	3. Chapter 3

tuesday  
3:48pm.

The sweet scent of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies fills Newt's nostrils as he enters the chipped front door of the old brown tumbledown that houses his therapist. Sniffing with a satisfied smile, he closes the door behind him, slinging his satchel off his shoulder and into the corner.

Doctor Johnson's house is unusual. It's small, and situated in a place that Newt doesn't bother remembering the name of. The weather beaten slat cottage sits far at the end of the ghost like road, abandoned and singular. It has brick walls with gutters detaching from the roof, and a wired fence borders the property, sagging in places where the wind has knocked it down. Scrub and tall weeds cover the yellow lawn, in due for a cut.

Newt leans on the old floorboards. They feel thin and veined, frozen by a hundred winters, baked by a hundred summers. They smell of dust and age. He runs a pale finger across a tabletop, smiling faintly at the familiar lasting dust caking his fingertip.

The sun kisses his skin through the glass windows in the front door. The wood is silvered by the sun, warping the traditional dark exterior that seems to blanket around the house. No matter how gloomy the insides can get, Newt always remembers how no matter the time or day, it's always sunny. He likes that.

"Costas?" He calls, voice laced with a sheepishness that he knows his therapist will smile at. "I've uh, decided to come early today, I hope you don't mind-"

"Newt! What a lovely surprise! Come in, come in!"

A short woman with moose hair that slinks just past her shoulders appears from the end of the hallway, a cheerful smile on her face. Her eyes are warm and friendly, a shade of emerald that captures you instantly when you look at her. It's Grace, the lovely wife of Dr. Johnson, and Newts eyes brighten when he sees her.

She wipes down her flour-coated hands onto her apron with a sheepish laugh, before pulling Newt into a strong hug. He returns the action and relaxes into the comfort. He always likes being here, it's snug and cosy and smells like home.

She pulls back and hangs onto his elbows, concern on her face as she looks at him properly. "Look at you, so pale today! Come, come, there's cookies in the kitchen waiting to be eaten!" She says, pulling him gently behind her.

The chocolate flavour wafts though the air, almost teasingly the second Newt sits down, and he's greeted with a flower based plate filled with his favorite snacks. She sets a glass of milk in front of him before taking a seat, folding her arms as she watches him devour them gratefully.

"Fanks Glory," Newt mumbles, his mouth stuffed, cheeks popping out like a chipmunk. Instead of scolding him lightly like usual, Gloria ruffles his hair, smiling almost sadly. Newt isn't watching her and she takes the time to notice that he seems, even if only a little, bit worse.

His skin is milky white and his sunken doe eyes hold purple bags beneath that seem to darken by the second. He looks tired, so tired and she wants to wrap him in a blanket and smother him with snuggles.

Instead she watches him fondly while they both wait for her husband to come home. He smiles at her between happy chews, and gulps of milk and looks so young and childlike that she rubs his arm gently, patting his cheek in a playful way before standing up from the kitchen table, the floor creaking as she walks to the counter to refill his milk.

"How are you doing, Newt?" She asks, absentmindedly. She flicks the cap off of the creamy liquid and waits for an answer. He hums behind her, and she can imagine exactly what he's doing, stretching his arms out and running a hand across his spiky head.

"M'fine, I guess. I know I look a bit worse but I feel quite okay, actually," he admits, sucking chocolate off his fingers. He smiles again, in a reassuring way that goes wasted as her back is turned to him.

He wants to tell her about the boy, the boy at the hospital. The one that has pretty eyes and a nice laugh. The boy that makes him smile when he thinks of him. Thomas - he wants to tell her about Thomas.

It's that moment that Costas opens the front door. He has a handful of plastic bags filled to the brim and his hair is disheveled from the wind, but there's a glow in his grey eyes and a shine to his features.

He enters the kitchen with a heavy breath and a mock act of exhaustion, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. Newt let's out a gentle laugh. Just as easy as it is to upset him, he supposes it's also easy to make him laugh, these days.

Costas has curly dark hair that frames his face, with a grey stubble and twinkly eyes that gaze at you with joy. He has a cheerful smile that stretches up to his eyes and a large body that seems soft and warm. Newt finishes his fourth cookie before stumbling away from the table, smiling warmly at the bear snug man.

"Newt, my boy, how are you doing!" Costas greets, happily pulling Newt in for yet, another hug. He pats his back in a fatherly way and Newt cherishes the moment like he always does.

"I'm good," he grins, arms wrapped comfortably around the mans back. Thomas is smiling at him in his mind. "Yeah, I-I'm good."

Gloria hands Newt his milk and Costas a tea neither of them noticed she made. "Off with you two then," she says, ushering them out of the kitchen. "I have sweeping to do."

✘ ✘ ✘

tuesday  
4:35pm.

Thomas traces patterns along Teresa's arm as she flicks through the channels on her TV. His arm is snaked around her shoulders and she's snuggled contently into his side. They're sinking into the sofa with blankets covering their legs. He hums to himself, crossing his own legs on the foot rest.

She looks up at him with a curious expression. "What do we watch, Tom? Nothing here seems good."

He adjusts his arm around her, before grabbing the remote with a cheeky grin. "Dunno," he says, scanning briefly through the endless options on Netflix. "There isn't much there, unless you want to watch 'Fifty shades of grey' with the lights off." He wiggles his eyebrows.

She smacks his arm lightly with a giggle. "Quit it, you moron," she chuckles, lifting herself off of his side. "We need snacks, and soda and shit. Run down to the store and grab us some?"

Thomas sighs dramatically, letting out a heave as he 'struggles' to sit up from the sofa. He gives her a feathery kiss on her forehead, grabbing his wallet on the glass table. "Of course, how could I resist you when you're so sick," he teases, motioning towards her cast. She holds her arm out to him with a pout, and he smiles.

"Be back soon babe, don't miss me too much."

"Yeah, yeah. Take as long as you need."

He laughs as he walks out the door.

  
✘ ✘ ✘

 

Thomas frowns at the two boxes of goodness in his hands. He debates on getting both, but they'll only eat one bowl. He's conflicted on getting salted popcorn or butter popcorn, and he thinks about childishly doing 'eenie, meanie, miney, mo' when a voice speaks behind him.

"Um, get the butter. It tastes better."

He's heard that voice somewhere, he knows he has.

Spinning around like lightening, Thomas grins widely when he sees who's spoken. It's hospital boy, short hair still as spiky, skin still as pale. He's not wearing a gown though, instead a white hoodie, and a brown jacket with sleeves that trail down across his fingertips, along with baggy black jeans that Thomas thinks are supposed to be skinny leg.

Hospital boy has a shy smile on his face, fiddling with his the cuffs of his sleeves, shuffling his feet a little. Thomas finds it endearing. "You think so? I was planning on going for salt," he replies. He's teasing, with eyebrows wiggling in a way that he performs when he's joking around. Newt shakes his head, sticking out his tongue in a mock gag expression, and it's ridiculously cute that Thomas looks away for a second.

"No," Newt says, proudly. He lets his guard down a little and quits fidgeting. "It's too salty, and bad for you. Butter is better, trust me."   
Thomas, still feeling playful, crosses his arms behind his back, switching the boxes where Newt can't see. "Pick."

Newt's eyes light up in a way that leaves Thomas' stomach curling with butterflies. Timidly, if you can call it that, Newt quickly taps his left arm, before holding his palms behind his back and rocking his feet in anticipation.

Thomas holds up his left hand, grinning triumphantly when he sees the box.

 _Salted Popcorn_.

"Awh no!" Newt cries out softly, turning away as he places his hand on his forehead in an act of despair. Thomas chuckles and places the buttered flavour back on the shelf.

"You picked it, man," Thomas says, dropping the popcorn into the red basket at his feet, already filled with sugary content. Newts eyes glaze over the packets of Reece's, Hershey's chocolate bars, cans of soda, chocolate cookies. He's smiling almost sarcastically, raising his eyebrows once he meets Thomas' gaze again.

"Party?" He guesses, biting his lip. Thomas snorts, lifting the basket up effortlessly. "You could say that," he says, jiggling the receptacle. Newt nods solemnly, suddenly reaching out to Thomas' side to grab a packet of Twizzler's from behind him, eyes squinted in curiosity.

"These nice?" he pipes up after a moment, and Thomas nods as an answer. "Yeah, they're good."

Newt continues with the conversation. "We don't have these in England," he comments, swinging the bar in his arms shyly. Thomas smiles again. He can tell hospital boy doesn't want to finish talking to him. He finds it, just like everything else about him, endearingly cute.

"Oh yeah?" He begins walking towards the cashier, body tilted sideways as an open gesture for Newt to follow. He does, almost timidly, and stumbles a little bit at an attempt to catch up. Thomas wants to hold him.

"Mhm. We had other stuff though."

Newts efforts of keeping the conversation going make Thomas want to squeeze him forever. He's so oddly adorable and has such big, eager eyes full of awe it makes him wonder just exactly what he was doing in the hospital that day.

He doesn't ask, instead, as he flashes a smile at the cashier while handing her the candy, he lets his eyes fall back on Newts. "That so? What candy did you have there?"

Newt smiles, big with crinkly eyes. "We call them sweets. Sweeties, like - wine gums, and gum drops. Jelly babies were my favourite," he rambles a little bit, while Thomas pays for the stash of sugary shit piled into plastic bags. He nods along, listening.

Thomas stands and watches as Newt pays for the Twizzlers, hesitantly. They both thank the cashier woman before exiting the store. Newt follows Thomas like a lost puppy and Thomas feels his insides jumping around.

Newt unwraps the candy, gazing at it sweetly for a moment. He takes a bite then, and Thomas watches him as he fumbles for the keys to his moms car, smiling when he sees the boys brown eyes light up.

"Good?"

"Very!"

Thomas chuckles, throwing the bags into the boot of the car, closing the door with a slight slam. "Need a lift?" He's disappointed when the Brit shakes his head. "No. That's fine. Thanks though. I can walk. From here - my house is like - it's close. Just around the corner, I - yeah. Thanks for the offer though," Newt isn't much of a wordsmith, but he's not used to stumbling over himself like this.

Thomas chuckles lightly to himself and nods. "Alright. See you around?"

Newt is already walking away. He's walking backwards, a half eaten Twizzler in his hand. His short, fuzzy hair is blonder than usual, shiny against the suns rays. He seems small and light through the layers of clothing, almost cuddly. He waves happily before turning around to jog lightly back to the pavement. He munches on the bar as he walks away, not knowing Thomas is watching him.

He smiles the whole way back to Teresa's.

✘ ✘ ✘

tuesday  
5:12pm.

Newt walks through the front door of the new house, out of breath. It's stupid. All of it is. He walks to the store around the corner and he's back feeling like he's gone to the gym for an hour. Sighing, he leans against the door, a shy smile tugging at his lips. Thomas. Thomas was there. Thomas. Thomas, Thomas, Thomas.

He had beige jeans with a dark red jumper on. His coat was denim, it was fluffy too. Newt remembers wanting to touch the fluff. He thanks whatever Gods for a moment for whatever urge passed that he didn't.

He looks down at the Twizzler wrapper. He feels foolish. He stumbled over everything and made an idiocy of himself. Thomas must think - shit. Thomas probably thinks he's a loser. Some weird pale sick kid that can barely form a sentence.

Shoving the wrapper into his pocket, Newt takes his coat off, hanging it onto the coat stand before making his way to the kitchen. "Doctor Johnson's was good!" He calls out, before he gets there. "We talked about nice things. I feel a bit better, about- oh. Hi, Eric."

He almost chokes, stumbling backwards when he's greeted by a not so happy Eric standing at the doorway. "Newt," Eric says, eyes narrowing dangerously. "Did you get the milk?"

Newt's stomach drops.

_He forgot the fucking milk._

"I - I forgot. I - I was talking to someone - I didn't mean - I'll go back and get it -" Newt tries to speak but his voice his hoarse and Eric's expression discourages him. He steps forward, and Newt takes a step backwards. Where's Sonya? Mum?

"How does one set out to buy one _damn_ thing, and _forget to fucking buy it?_ I think this whole cancer thing is fucking with your brain kid. Makes you stupid," Eric spits, caging Newt in to the wall. He leans in, his breath smelling foul. Sour, like out of date milk. Newt wants to kick himself at the irony.

"I, I just got distracted. I'll go out and get it," Newt tries again, hating himself. He feels pathetic. He always feels pathetic around Eric when they're alone. He feels weak and useless and he's exhausted. He wants to shower and lie down and sleep forever but Eric has none of it.

"Don't - don't _fucking_ patronize me, kid. Quit the fucking act. I swear - I ask one thing, one thing, and you can't even do that. Useless, I tell your mother. Goddamn useless," he hisses, voice dark with fury. His jaw clenches, teeth baring viciously in a way that reminds Newt of big dogs. Dogs that bite.

He shoves Newt into the wall once, before scowling with his eyebrows knitted together. He pokes Newt in the chest, hard, before shoving him roughly out of the way as he exits the kitchen, aggressively so as his steps are thunderous when he climbs the stairs.

Newt let's out a breath he doesn't remember holding, feeling tears of rage build up in his eyes. He refuses to let them fall, squeezing his eyes shut fiercely, wishing, just for a second, he had longer hair to pull at. He curls his hands into fists instead, before thumping them into the wall. He's weak and tired and his pounding doesn't make a lot of noise, but he whimpers quietly to himself and sits on the floor.

Then Thomas is smiling at him. Thomas is reassuring him. Thomas is telling him that Twizzlers taste good. Thomas is laughing, eyes bright and beautiful.

Thomas. Thomas, Thomas, Thomas.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi here's a new chapter,,, surprise,,,  
> i hope y'all dislike eric as much as i do because wow jesus what a dick i-
> 
> so here we have newt and thomas interacting again wow i'm shOCKED -  
> anyways, they'll get closer soon and thomas will find out about newt and stuff so yEah
> 
> i hope yous enjoyed and leave a comment & like if u did cos i really like those :)
> 
> \- bee ☘︎


	4. Chapter 4

wednesday  
12:34pm.

Thomas groans in a way that earns him another short lecture from his teacher, as he's told to stop staring out the window for at least the eighth time. Minho shoots him a questioning look from where he sits across the scrappy classroom, and Thomas waves him off with his hand. Next to him, his lab partner, Ben, snorts absentmindedly. He's been watching Thomas drool all morning and he finds it...amusing, to say the least.

It won't be as easy to get Teresa off his back, who's also looking at Thomas with an odd expression. She's judging him, in that way of hers that has him wanting to kick himself. He rests his head on his hand, sat up with his elbow, trying - for the hundredth time - to focus. Picking at the corners of his copy, he frowns when he realises it's empty, and he wants to kick himself again for zoning out and missing the majority of the notes.

Not that he particularly likes biology, but he's failing and if he can't stop thinking about a scrawny, spiky headed kid he's never going to get anything done. Not that he wants to, the orphic blonde boy could capture his mind for hours.

"Thomas Edison! For the last _time_ \- okay, I give up - just move up here, next to Winston. I swear - what's with you guys and day dreaming? Is it the hot weather?" Mrs Malone shouts out, then, and Thomas notices that he's not the only one hardly paying attention. Half the kids in the class are doodling on copies, have their heads on their desks, or are simply staring into space. What can he say? Biology isn't fun.

Thomas doesn't bother protesting as he gathers his things, grumbling slightly as he shuffles slowly forwards from the back of the class to the very front - he hopes this isn't his new permanent seat. He can still hear Ben cackling when he sits down, and the kid - Winston? - gives him a sympathetic look.

Satisfied, Miss Malone continues scratching notes onto the chalkboard, and Thomas groans quietly when hospital boy returns to his head. It's almost ironic. Moving his seat from beside the window won't turn off his brain. He just can't function today.

It's another ten minutes before the bell finally rings, and Thomas grabs his things before stuffing them into his bag roughly, speed walking out of the classroom before his teacher can call him back.

Teresa catches up with him in the hallway, just as their turning a corner (occupied by a group of kids exchanging some sort of drugs, lovely) and nearing his locker. "What's up with you today, Tom? You've been acting weird since yesterday." She points, accusingly. Her tone, Thomas guesses, isn't meant to come across as contradicting as it does, but she sounds a little harsh anyway. He sighs, facing her.

"Nothing, T. Just got some stuff on my mind, yeah?" He says, giving her a look that tells her to quit asking questions. She wants to glare at him, but Thomas catches her smoothing her expression before trying to smile. "Fine. But if there's something going on, you can tell me," she reminds him, before turning around and walking away.

She's just going to their table in the cafeteria, but Thomas feels a little hurt that she didn't wait for him. He grits his teeth and grabs his shit from his locker, before slamming it shut, and walking in her direction.

Hospital boy is still smiling shyly at him, and he almost crashes into a group of theatre kids. Stumbling over himself and apologising messily, Thomas cringes as he continues to walk towards the cafeteria.

Blondie needs to get out of his head.

And fast.

✘ ✘ ✘

wednesday  
12:57pm.

"Do you have any idea what you've got yourself into?"

Newt shrugs, picking numbly at his toast. He's spraying crumbs everywhere, flicking them into the table with his fingers. Sonya smacks his wrist with a stern expression, waving her arms around while she vents. "Quit playing around, Newt! You're in deep shit here!"

Newt raises his head from where he was staring at his lap. His nose is scrunched in pain, the blood pooling around the edges dried now, but still stingy. His eyes are bloodshot and have purple rings stamped around their brown orbs, and he flinches, remembering the hit.

"I don't care. Eric can fuck off." Is all he says, kicking the leg of a chair beside him. Sonya bites her lip, the worry etched onto her face like a scratched car mark. She fumbles with her hands for a moment, before sighing in defeat and grabbing his mug, emptying the remains of his long cold tea into the sink, replacing it with a scorching refill afterwards.

He smiles at her gratefully when she places the cup in his hands, holding them in her own for a moment. She kneels down in front of him, placing her hands on the side of his face instead, cupping his cheeks. She runs her thumbs softly over the smooth skin, and he leans into the touch, nuzzling gently. He always does - it's his weakness.

His eyes close after a little while, and he begins to lean sideways, nodding off.  She nudges him back awake, before gently pulling him up, and together they stumble over to the sofa. She pushes him down gently and he flops limply against the cushions, curling up into a ball. It's endearing, and Sonya can't not give him a kiss on the forehead.

It doesn't matter, he's already asleep.

The tea goes unused, left to go cold like the last cup, but she leaves it there anyways, flopping down onto a chair beside the sofa. She gently threads her fingers through his hair, it's not nearly yet long enough, but it works, a little bit. He curls up closer to her, anyway, so she doesn't stop.

Newt is like a child. Small, sickly pale, fragile. His skin clings to his bones and he has big, brown eyes that a _full_ with curiosity. He has childlike habits that keeps a stranger staring - he swings his legs and jumps up and down the odd occasion when he gets excited.

He claps his hands - rarely, but sometimes - when he's happy, and in the purest of times, he sits down when he laughs, holding his stomach and looking like a precious ray of sunshine. He likes to sleep with his head on Sonya's lap, he likes to curl up next to her, and if they're laying down, she'll pull his head onto her chest. It's comforting, and usually, if he can't, it sends him right off, snoring softly in a way that has Sonya squeezing his nose playfully.

He's fond of hugs, too. Sonya is really the only one who ever gives them properly, because hugging Newt is a lot more than just a quick wrap around. He likes the comfort in them, too. When she hugs him he melts in her embrace, head tucked tightly into her neck and arms squeezing tight. It's routine. She'll rub his back and massage his head soothingly, he'll mumble something she can't hear and then they'll pull away, smiling softly with eyes gleaming.

Like everything about Newt, endearing. Truly.

Now, Newt is quiet. He's not snoring or making any kind of noise, and he's still, occasionally adjusting himself closer to her in his sleep. Her finger is running up and down his cheek, stroking it softly. It's those kind of gestures that calm him down, the ones that make him forget how bad things are.

Eric is mean. He's nasty and hurtful and for some reason only God knows why - he _despises_ Newt. Always has, always will. Sonya is by far his favourite, and she can't understand _why_. Newt is precious. By nature, by appearance, by personality. She doesn't understand how someone can look at her baby brother and see anything but child in need of protecting - despite the one year age difference. She's not much older, but she sees Newt as a little kid.

Sometimes, that bothers him. Sometimes he's distant, quieter than usual (although he's always quiet) and moody. He pushes her away and snaps at everything, even if it makes her have to turn away because for fucks sake Newt getting angry is like a pissed off kitten. She can't take him seriously. She really can't and usually, that infuriates him more.

Newt doesn't shout, ever. He's beyond exhausted all the time and his voice and body can't keep up. When he's angry, he cries. He gets frustrated and wants to be left alone and usually she leaves him be, but some times she pulls him into her chest and lets him cry because everything fucking _sucks_.

Today was different. Today Newt pushed the boundaries of how far he can go. Some other day, Sonya might joke about his baby face and call it his ultimate temper tantrum, but for now, it was the worst she's ever seen him. Newt and Eric got into a fight, usually one-sided (or just Eric being a dick) and Newt mumbling to himself, but today - today was odd.

She's never seen Newt get so angry. She's never seen him so heat up - so, furious. She's never heard him scream so loud, shout until his voice was hoarse. She's never seen him so vulnerable to his own misery and she hates Eric for putting him in that position. Actually, she hates Eric for everything he puts Newt through.

The punches he gave Newt today were the final straw, and then Sonya was screaming too, because that's her baby brother and _you can't fucking hurt him look at him he's tiny how can you hurt him he's sick -_

Newt mumbles something into her hand. She presses her palm flat against his cheek, rubbing it in circles. The house his quiet, with Eric and Tasha fucked off somewhere and Newt dozed off next to her, she has time to think. Over-think, perhaps, but think nonetheless.

He needs a friend. Someone other than herself and his therapist. He needs someone to talk to about normal stuff. He's too confined in his cancer world and hospital check ups and abuse from Eric - he needs to get out, explore, experience, enjoy the little things. He needs to see the world and fall in love and make memories and meet new people and make new friends and be a goddamn teenager.

She wants him to be happy. He says he is, but how can that possibly be true? He deserves a life - a real one, where he can try new foods and sleep under the moonlight and dance under the stars and let the sun kiss his skin and find a person that makes his stomach feel butterflies.

Sonya is tracing his face with her fingers gently, running them softly over his eyelids when he mumbles out something she can't quite catch. But then he says it again, louder.

"Tho-Thomas. Thomas. Tom - Tommy."

Sonya can feel a grin tugging at the corners of her lips.

Well, maybe Newt can get the life he deserves, after all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so this is really fucking short and really fucking fluffy holy shit-  
> my apologies lads i've got exams tomorrow and it's 11:30 and i still haven't studied lol 
> 
> my best friend (dog) unfortunately passed away too so i've been really fucking sad but i'm ok now i think sjssj 
> 
> rip to me cos of exams but i hope yous enjoyed this despite it being shorter than my dick and i don't even have one so -
> 
> love yaS 
> 
> \- bee


End file.
